


the moment of epiphany, in gold light.

by redhoods



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Getting Together, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 09:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21371911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Claude sighs, “You think Lorenz doesn’t have any marks?” He asks, still quiet, looking around to make sure there’s no one within eavesdropping range.Hilda hums, “Look, I’ve known him for a really long time and I’ve never seen even the hint of a mark on him,” she says carefully, “Is it possible? I mean, his father is awful, but his mother, surely?” Her fingers tighten on his arm a little, “It would explain so much if he didn’t have one.”
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 288





	the moment of epiphany, in gold light.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erebones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/gifts).

> this is... idk. it's just soulmate fluff. not terribly plot heavy or well thought out but it's soft and i love these two.
> 
> i hope you like it, rache!!!!
> 
> title from a richard siken poem.

“Claude, darling, its been too long since we’ve chatted!” Hilda declares as she catches him around the elbow, her fingers against the bare skin of his inner elbow where there’s a splash of pale pink that she has a claim to on his dark skin.

He squints at the side of her head, “We had breakfast this morning,” he counters slowly, “What are you after?”

It speaks to their friendship that she doesn’t try to even pretend like she wasn’t about to weedle him for some sort of confirmation of gossip she’s gotten her hooks into, “Okay, okay, you know me too well,” she says cheerfully, “Well, I had tea with Dorothea earlier.”

Sighing, he shakes his head as he turns them away from the classrooms, deciding that it’ll probably be better if they simply make a loop back around to the classroom instead, “What gossip are you two caught up in now?”

“Soulmarks,” she says excitedly, though hushed, her fingers curling against the mark she’d left on him after they’d known each other for less than a week, “What with the war and everything, people are getting a little desperate, a little less worried about covering them up,” she drops her gaze to his open collar where a mark spills out.

There’s nothing suggestive in her gaze though, she knows that’s his father’s mark, even if no one else does.

“Uh huh,” he leads, “And who in particular?”

She pats his arm, “You’re so clever, Claude.”

“You’re laying it on very thick.”

“Well,” she draws the word out, “The thing is,” she pauses and taps her chin with her free hand, “We happen to know a certain someone that tends to keep all covered up and we’re just wondering if it’s possible maybe he doesn’t have a mark.”

Claude stares at the side of her head as they walk, “He,” he says slowly, “You do realize I can think of at least three of our classmates in that fashion, right? Ferdinand, for one. Lorenz, too. I think it’s a noble thing really,” he lists off, “Felix also, but I think we all know there’s a different reason for that.”

She clears her throat, “Right, of course,” she says quickly.

No one likes to dwell on the marks that fade and scar.

“Dorothea happens to know that Ferdinand isn’t markless, just...” she trails off, nose scrunching, “His biggest mark is, uh—”

“Hubert,” Claude says quietly.

“Right!” Hilda says with a slight twist of her lips.

Claude sighs, “You think Lorenz doesn’t have any marks?” He asks, still quiet, looking around to make sure there’s no one within eavesdropping range.

Hilda hums, “Look, I’ve known him for a really long time and I’ve never seen even the hint of a mark on him,” she says carefully, “Is it possible? I mean, his father is awful, but his mother, surely?” Her fingers tighten on his arm a little, “It would explain so much if he didn’t have one.”

Something sour twists in his gut.

“And what,” he starts, perhaps more harshly than he means, “you want to turn his potential lack of marks into gossip? People are already snide enough to him to his face and behind his back considering his father. You want them to mock him now? Pity him?”

Hilda draws him to a stop, looking chastised but also furious, “People have made comments to his face?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Lorenz won’t admit it, you know how he is,” he says and flings a hand out, his own frustration bubbling, “But I’ve seen it happen a few times with my own eyes.”

“Next time, point them out,” she replies, jutting her chin in the air, “I’ll knock them out,” she adds with a delicate sniff.

Claude is sorely tempted to let her, more than sorely really, “I don’t think Lorenz would much appreciate it, but maybe a little intimidation isn’t too bad an idea.”

She tilts her head at him, “I read you, leader man,” she says with a wink, then flounces off with a loud, “Ta!”

\------

Claude doesn’t forget about the conversation, it bounces around the back of his overworked mind for the rest of the day and well into the night while he’s in the Cardinal’s Room, maps and missives spread around him in a wide arc, a large thermos of coffee just out of range of his elbow as he pens out replies and marks paths.

The door creaks just barely and the footsteps that follow are soft, but purposeful. “I thought I’d find you here,” Lorenz’s voice echoes off the stone walls even though his tone is low and quiet.

Sitting back in his chair, Claude rubs his temple, turning his head in Lorenz’s direction, only partially surprised to find him carrying a tea service, “What brings you out so late, Lorenz?” He asks as he starts clearing a space for the tray. The scent a chamomile and lavender wafts, “Trouble sleeping?”

The first, he figures must be the tea. The second, he knows is an oil that’s part of Lorenz’s nighttime routine. Lavender and rose oil.

It’s almost a comfort now as he watches Lorenz get settled in the seat and start pouring out tea, “Ah, yes,” he answers finally as he’s hand a tea cup to Claude, their fingers brushing incidentally, “I also correctly guessed that you would be burning candles down.”

Claude breathes out a soft laugh before he lifts the cup to his mouth, “Know me so well, don’t you?”

That gets him an unimpressed arched brow over the rim of a cup in response.

Claude winks at him, just to see the delicate pink bloom across his cheeks, “I’m getting predictable in my old age, aren’t I?”

Lorenz snorts out a very indelicate laugh, quickly bringing his free hand to cover his nose and mouth, though his expression is too mirthful for the glare he levels at Claude. It only takes him seconds to recover before he’s lowering his hand, “The day you become predictable, von Riegan, is the day I take over the Alliance.”

“Might come sooner than you think,” Claude tells him quietly, taking a sip from his own cup so he doesn’t have to see Lorenz’s reaction.

There’s a quiet pause, before Lorenz says, “This is about those dreams of yours, isn’t it?” He’s smarter than most people give him credit for, Claude knows, and he’s always so aware of it when he drops these hints, “About where you came from before you appeared in Leicester?”

Claude licks his lips, nods his head, “I can trust you with the Alliance,” he says, confident in that, “Once the war is done, once Fodlan isn’t on the brink of tearing itself apart.”

“You’re going to leave,” Lorenz says, flat.

Frowning, he places his cup down, reaches out to touch Lorenz’s arm, “When the war is over, that will have been all I could do for this place,” he explains carefully, “I can make a difference elsewhere.” Then because he feels like he’s losing this battle, “I thought you wanted me out of your hair?”

Lorenz sighs very loudly as he puts his cup down, brushes Claude’s hand off his arm, “Claude,” he says very carefully as he stands, “You are a great idiot.” Without another word, he presses a dry kiss to the center of Claude’s forehead and then sweeps out of the room.

Claude’s left sitting in a cloud of lavender and rose and feeling like he’s missed something important.

\-----

Hilda sits next to him at breakfast, takes her napkin and instead of placing it in her lap, proceeds to start whacking him with it.

He yelps, trying to scramble out of her range, which nearly puts him in Raphael’s lap, who only laughs and presses him what feels like too firmly back into his chair. It’s only then that he realizes he’s been surrounded and he swallows thickly, “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Hilda says, grinning viciously.

“You’re an idiot,” Lysithea declares.

Claude swallows, “So people keep telling me.”

“I’ve tried to give you hints,” Hilda carries on with a put upon sigh, “Not even remotely subtle hints, the sort of giant hints that even your thick skull should have comprehended.”

“Truly, I’m astounded,” Leonie says.

“The hints were my idea,” Raphael adds with a grin.

“Oh,” Claude says quietly, staring at his own hands, then, “Shit.”

Marianne reaches across the table and takes his hands, “Look, Claude,” she says, meeting his gaze, “You’re a very clever man,” and she soldiers on past several snorts around them, “But you’ve been so buried in your plans that you’ve missed some pretty big stuff.”

“Clearly,” he replies weakly.

She releases his hands and sits back, “You should go.”

“Go?”

Hilda whacks him a few more times with her napkin, “You great lug, he takes tea every morning in the gazebo!”

“Oh, right!” He shoves his chair back loudly and stands, “I owe all of you.”

“Please,” Hilda sniffs.

As he walks away, he hears Lysithea say, “He really does, we’re owed for dealing with this.”

\-----

He dithers around the bushes, not quite stepping around to the gazebo, heart slamming in his chest as he tries to pull himself together, pacing in circles.

The implications of that intervention, of the hints, that Lorenz might have his mark, that everyone else knew before he knew. It all slots together in place, it all makes sense. Especially given Lorenz’s reaction last night. The only thing he can’t place is why Lorenz wouldn’t tell him that.

“Claude!” Lorenz calls from the gazebo, “Why don’t you join me, instead of looking like a deranged stalker over there?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Claude edges around the tall hedge, “You saw me?”

“Mm, your particular color scheme is not well suited to stealth,” he points out, sitting back in one of the chairs, one leg crossed over his thigh, tea cup in his hand. He’s handsome, Claude’s always thought so, but like this, in his element, surrounded by flowers, it somehow floors him.

“Right, of course,” he says, drawing his shoulders back as he closes the distance to sink into the opposite chair, “Did you end up getting some sleep?”

Lorenz hums at him in a manner that’s not actually an answer.

Claude rubs at his chin, sighs, slumps a little, “I’ve been informed than I’m an idiot by several of our friends,” he says quietly, watching Lorenz through his lashes.

Lorenz only arches a brow at him.

“You’re really not going to make this easy on me, are you?” Claude asks, aiming for cheerful, but he thinks he misses the mark. Lands somewhere around confused maybe, contrite even. He’s not sure what to do with himself now, not sure how he missed it.

“I wasn’t particularly planning on it, no,” Lorenz says and takes a sip of his tea.

Claude nods then stands, buttons on his coat.

Lorenz’s brow lifts higher, “Claude, we are in public.”

“Oh well,” Claude answers as he shrugs out of his coat, drops it uncaring on the chair he’s just vacated. He turns his back to Lorenz, because he can’t take the face that Lorenz is making.

And because.

He draws his tunic out of where it’s tucked into his sash and trousers, draws the hem up until the back of his tunic is up over the middle of his back. Breathes out a few times, looks over his shoulder.

Lorenz has put his tea cup down and is staring, jaw open, unseemly of him as his foot slides to the ground, “Claude,” he says very quietly, then stands suddenly, jostling the table with his hip, causing a rattle of cups and teapot that he doesn’t even notice, because he’s closing the distance, a hand out.

“You can,” he says quietly, looking away from the quietly awed look on Lorenz’s face, tucking his chin against the hem of his tunic, letting his hand drop.

Warm fingers brush the edges of where he knows the mark starts, a large vibrant violet stain that takes up most of his lower back, “You really are an idiot,” Lorenz says to his back, “When?”

Claude grimaces at the stone beneath his feet, “Ah, the ball.”

The fingers skirt suddenly down against the mark, “The ball?” Lorenz asks incredulously, like Claude’s not going out of his mind from the direct contact against the mark, blood thrumming, heart thundering, “Claude.”

“I know,” he says quietly, “It wasn’t that large then, but it, uh, it definitely got there, huh?”

Lorenz whacks him on the shoulder, his other hand still pressed against the mark, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” his voice is so hushed, tracing the edges of the mark.

It’d started out hand shaped almost, a little smudged, like someone had smacked him hard enough to bruise on the back, even faded like a bruise. Claude couldn’t pin point exactly when it had started growing, when it had gotten more saturated, just that it had been gradual.

“And what about you?” Claude asks, dropping his tunic to turn and look at Lorenz, who doesn’t remove his hand, so it ends up pressed against his bare belly under his tunic.

“Well,” Lorenz says, cheeks pink, then, “Well,” again.

Claude lifts an eyebrow as Lorenz withdraws from him and Lorenz takes much more care as he removes his outer layer, draping it carefully over his vacated chair. He looks smaller without it almost, except his shoulders are still broad and he’s still a head taller than Claude.

Lorenz untucks his shirt and only pulls it up on his left side, barely to his ribs, but that’s all he needs to show.

“Wow,” Claude finds himself saying at the mark there, a great mark of gold that takes up Lorenz’s left hip, stretching down into his trousers and up under his shirt, across nearly to his navel, “On most people, this ends up looking like an old bruise,” he says quietly, because it looks good against Lorenz’s pale skin.

He reaches out but doesn’t touch.

“It started out that way,” Lorenz tells him quietly, “You can touch.”

There’s no need to tell him twice, Claude presses his hand flat against the area, tries to recall a time he’d ever touched Lorenz’s hip, “When?” 

“Remire Village,” Lorenz says, voice so low that Claude wouldn’t have heard him if they weren’t so close.

It takes a minute for the memory to shake loose, but Claude remembers. After they’d finished cleaning up the village they best they could, after the professor had shepherded them back onto the road, they’d all been too tired, too scraped raw for the journey back. They’d set up camp, quiet and solemn, the whole lot of them crowding around the fire, hips and shoulders pressed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Claude asks quietly, curious as he looks up at Lorenz’s face, still pink with a blush that suits him too well.

Lorenz arches a brow at him that says plenty.

Claude breathes out, sweeping his thumb over the mark, “And now?”

“Now, we are at war and my father is a great fool,” Lorenz declares loftily, then grips him by the front of his tunic and yanks him into a kiss.

It’s not great, their teeth clack and Lorenz has to lean in and Claude has to press up and he doesn’t care at all.

Lorenz is the one to pull away too quickly though, cheeks brighter, “I, uh,” he starts, hand still curled in Claude’s tunic, “We should—” he palm flattens against Claude’s chest, against where his heart is beating wildly.

“Relocate to somewhere less public and have a proper conversation about this later?” Claude asks, pressing his thumb against Lorenz’s mark.

“That is not what I was going to say,” Lorenz informs him.

“That is also not a no,” Claude points out.

“No, it’s not.”

Loathe as he is to pull away, Claude turns and scoops up his abandoned clothes, turns to watch Lorenz do the same, before offering his arm, quietly surprised when Lorenz passes it up for wrapping an arm around his back, hand proprietary where it splays against the soulmark taking up Claude’s lower back. He loops his own arm around Lorenz’s back in turn, tucks it under his shirt against the skin of his hip, leans against his side, “So your room or mine?”

Lorenz huffs quietly at him, but he still feels the kiss pressed to the top of his head, “Whichever is closer. We have time to make up for.”

“That we do, that we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter.


End file.
